I spend an hour going over the files of the six missing men again, this time looking for any connection to farming or farm animals. Twenty-two-year-old Mark Elliott had just graduated from the College of Wooster and was newly engaged to his high school sweetheart. A young man just starting his life. No criminal record. No warrants. No connection to hogs. Thirty-five-year-old Raymond Stetmeyer, father of two young children, was married to Silvia Stetmeyer, an administrative assistant in Millersburg. Again, no connection to farming or farm animals. Thirty-one-year-old Ricky Maitland, no children, married to Gladys Morrison of Berlin, who remarried just last year. Nothing. Twenty-year-old Leroy Nolt. His is the only family I haven’t yet spoken with, but a glance at the wall clock tells me it’s after 10:00 P.M. Too late to make the call tonight. I’ll need to pull employment records, but as far as I can tell from the information I have, none of the missing have any connection to farming or farm animals.

I’d told Tomasetti I’d try to be home in time for dinner. Not that he believed me; he knows I’m snowed under with this case, and he’s okay with that. But I’m not being completely honest with myself. Or him. The truth of the matter is, I’m avoiding him. Tomasetti is an astute man; he knows I’m preoccupied with something. I’m terrified he’ll look at me and somehow know. I have no idea how he will react to the possibility of my being pregnant.

The smart thing to do would be to stop by the drug store and buy a pregnancy test. At least then I’ll know what I’m dealing with. Chances are this missed period is just a temporary manifestation of stress or diet.

Not allowing myself to take the thought any further, I gather the file, shove everything into my laptop case, and head for the door.

*   *   *

Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at the farm and let myself in through the back door. Tomasetti left the light above the stove on for me, which tells me he’s already gone to bed. I cross the kitchen and see he left a note next to the coffeemaker. Hi, guy. Next to the note is a foil-wrapped chocolate Kiss. It’s a silly thing, but it warms the cold knot of fear in my gut. It gives me hope that everything is going to be all right, no matter what the outcome of the test.